Bowing to his customers, chef Alain Allegretti Anglicized his French bistro. Photo:

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When bad things happen to good restaurants . . .

The past few weeks saw the (with any luck, temporary) closing of Terrance Brennan’s Picholine on West 64th Street over a rent/partners dispute and of Zak Pelaccio’s Fatty Crab on Broadway at 77th Street. Yesterday, Picholine said it will reopen on Friday; Fatty Crab is to be replaced by an uptown edition of Ed Schoenfeld’s popular West Village “modern”-Chinese spot Red Farm.

Also, Alain Allegretti’s winning, Nice-inspired La Promenade des Anglais on West 23rd Street, while far from closing, morphed into Bistro la Promenade, with a menu more predictable and less Provençale-focused than the original. Allegretti told Eater.com the change came to “meet the demand of our customers.”

All three were fine restaurants. Their problem wasn’t their cuisine, service, locations or prices. It was — awful to say — customers who didn’t love them enough or didn’t get them at all.

New Yorkers pride themselves on their supposedly well-traveled palates, but many are a lot less worldly than they think. Too many run with the Yelp herd. Others believe that sushi is “fresh” or that “farm to table” promises longer life.

At least Picholine’s brand of Mediterranean-tinted luxury dining had a strong run in a part of town genetically hostile to formality and high prices. It lasted 20 years, longer than a Lincoln Center-area eatery had a right to expect with a prix-fixe-only dinner menu that recently started at $95.

The loss of Fatty Crab is harder to stomach. It lasted barely three years. Its fiery, Malaysian-inspired menu was as fully realized as at the original Fatty Crab on Hudson Street.

But Upper West Siders just didn’t go there enough. True, the place was too dark — even darker than sleepy Broadway north of 72nd Street can be at night.

But the blame lies squarely with locals who seem to prefer C-list bistros, trattorias and sushi factories on Amsterdam and Columbus avenues.

The neighborhood’s traditional Chinese craving ought to make the new Red Farm a sure bet. But let’s hope West Siders still remember what it tastes like without a coat of flour to withstand the 10-block bike ride on a delivery man’s bike.

When bad things happen to bad restaurants . . .

It’s hard to wish any place ill — there are livelihoods at stake, after all — but the shuttering of the Purple Fig on West 72nd Street by the Department of Health for operating without a permit was the year’s most overdue mercy killing.

Nobody has a clue as to what really went on at the alleged French-style bistro theoretically run by one-time Michelin-starred chef Conrad Gallagher.

But the one wacky night I spent there was enough. Turn the space back into the tavern it was — and give the Fig’s hapless employees retroactive hardship pay for having the courage to show up.